


y'aint gonna be lonesome anymore

by misprint



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Dolly Parton AU, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:44:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21812167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misprint/pseuds/misprint
Summary: "Well, come on in, I guess. Pull up a chair, as you folks say. You might as well, since you're here."
Relationships: Jon Lovett/Tommy Vietor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	y'aint gonna be lonesome anymore

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Dolly Parton's Joshua

"He's mean," the kids in town say. 

"He's a whole lotta attitude in a ten pound sack," the Reverend says.

"He's trouble," the folks in town say. "Him and that dog of his, shuffling down the road. Who knows what he could be getting up to?"

Tommy doesn't say much on the matter. He watches, and listens, but he's never really seen this strange man who came to town weeks ago.

One day, when he overhears some kids daring each other to knock on the man's door, his curiosity gets the better of him, and he asks where he can find him.

"Why'd you wanna know?" sneers the ring leader. And then, quicker, "We'll tell ya for a nickel." 

Tommy digs into his pocket, searching for the coins at the bottom. He finds a nickel by feel, handing it over and crossing his arms. He's taller than the lot, but there are five of them. Things got scrappy at times when he was a kid, and work at the mill is hard, so he's not completely defenceless. But he's also aware they're on the outskirts of town, with few people to intervene if things do turn. Not that many would, for him. 

"He lives by the river!" one boy pipes up.

"Hey!" the ring leader snaps, elbowing him in the side. She glares up at Tommy. "That's all ya get for a nickel. Any more'll cost ya." 

Tommy looks her in the eye for a moment, before backing away a few steps, turning, and ambling away. It's his day off, and his only plan was to go to the grocer. He can walk by the river on his way home.

-

He's listening to the river as he walks along, a brown bag tucked in one arm. He's rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his cotton shirt in the heat. 

The sun is shining through the trees, and there are dragonflies zipping about in the air around him. There's a slight breeze, just enough to tease the clammy skin at the back of his neck. He wonders if the river water feels as refreshing as it sounds. 

It's not until a dog bounds out of bushes that Tommy realizes he'd been hearing a faint barking as well. The sudden movement makes him jump, clutching his bag closer to his chest. An apple falls out of the bag, rolling down the embankment, and dropping into the water. Tommy watches it bob past, sadly, before refocusing his attention on the dog in front of him. 

It's a small dog, and not like the hunting dogs Tommy's seen before. Its face is sweet, as it cocks its head to look at him more carefully. Tommy waves awkwardly, uncertain if he should continue forward. The dog seemingly takes this as an invitation and leaps ahead, towards him, to place its front paws on his thighs and bark at his face.

"Hello," Tommy says. He brings his hand carefully down onto the dogs head. Its tail wags even faster, so he starts rubbing its head between the ears. The fur is curly, and the colour of butterscotch. 

"Hello," he says again. "What's your name?" 

The dog says nothing in return, just returns its paws to the ground. It trots down to the river, lapping at the shallows before racing back up to Tommy. It gives him a glance, and then turns, walking back the way it came.

He follows, at a distance.

It doesn't take long till the dog breaks away from the river to wriggle under brush that's fallen across what looks to be the entrance to a clearing. Tommy hefts his bag in his arms and takes a tall step over the tangled branches, looking around as he does.

To the right there looks to be a grove of trees. To the left there's a, well, a shack. It's small, and run down, and there are visible holes in the roof. But the dog bounds off towards it, so Tommy follows. 

The dog barks as it nears the shack, and a man steps out the door. When he turns, he startles as he sees Tommy standing there with his groceries.

He's shorter than Tommy, with clothes made to fit him. They're plain, but the sleeves don't need to be held up, and he's not wearing suspenders. He is wearing glasses, which sit high on his face. 

"Who are you?" he demands. And then his eyes narrow. "Did you steal my dog?" 

"Wha- No!" Tommy sputters. "I was walking by the river and it found me!"

"Sure, that seems legitimate." he says, sarcastically. "My dog just wandered off and found a, a handsome stranger." At this, he waves his hand towards Tommy, who fights the instinct to flinch. The dog is sitting by the man's feet, seemingly content to let Tommy suffer. "And then what, you just decide to come sniffing around someone’s private property?"

Tommy could swear there's the start of a smile forming in the corner of this guy's eyes. He thinks about what the people in town say, about how they talked when Tommy stopped going to church. About how they talk about the strange man with the dog. About how no one really talks to him anymore.

He smiles back at the man, and says "I'm Tommy. I work for Mrs. Parton, the mill owner?"

"Hi, Tommy," the man says. He’s looking over Tommy's shoulder, before he turns his head back and looks him in the eye. "Well, come on in, I guess. Pull up a chair, as you folks say. You might as well, since you're here." He turns around, saying over his shoulder, "You can call me Lovett."

-

Lovett's shack, well. It's not much better on the inside. It's got a good foundation, and Tommy can see the home it used to be, easily. But the rundown nature of the place, highlighted by the ramshackle furniture and threadbare furnishings, make the place look sad and patchwork.

"You're not from 'round here, are you?" Tommy says, standing against the wall. There's only one chair, and Tommy's not about to take it.

The man, Lovett, turns and looks surprised for a second before schooling his features in a neutral expression. 

"I'm from the coast," he says, awkwardly casual. "New York." He sits in the chair, legs twitching, arms folded. 

Tommy has to quickly decide whether to be the driving force behind this conversation, or let it die. He glances around the home Lovett's made here once more, and down at the dog curled up under the window. 

“What’s the dog’s name?” he tries. 

Lovett breaks into a smile, bringing one foot up on the edge of his chair. “Pundit,” he says. “She’s good company.”

Pundit looks up sleepily, before wuffing and laying her head back down. 

"So what brings you to Pigeon Forge?" he asks, not expecting an answer. He's curious. Town ain't big, and they don't get many visitors that stick around past a few weeks. No one comes here isn't goin’ somewhere else. 

Lovett leans forward, wrapping one hand around his knee. "Can you keep a secret, Tommy?" Tommy nods. He wouldn't have anyone to tell, even if he wanted to. "I'm here on behalf of the federal government. Doing an anthropological study of sorts.” He waits a beat, before elaborating. “Anthropology is- ” 

“I know what anthropology is.” Tommy says, indignant. He might not be a scholar, but the Reverend taught him how to read and write, and there’s a newspaper tucked into his grocery bag each week. 

What Lovett said catches up to him. “Wait, what?” 

Lovett smiles, before leaning back in his chair, one hand coming up to cover his mouth briefly. “So, Tommy, huh,” he says, crossing his arms. “You got a family name Tommy?”

“I might,” Tommy says. “What does the government want with Pigeon Forge?”

“Did you know,” Lovett says, “that Sevier County voted overwhelmingly against joining the Confederacy. That’s… significant. Catches certain people's attention."

“But,” Tommy starts, before pausing. “But that was over forty years ago.” 

“And you’re a grown man with a child’s name,” Lovett says blithely. “Things clearly don’t always have to make sense.” His second leg comes up to join the first, his arms coming to rest on his knees.

It’s not the answer Tommy was hoping for. He pushes on.

“I don’t know my family name,” he says. “I was raised in the orphans’ home.”

“A town this small has an orphanage?” Lovett asks, bewildered.

Tommy can feel himself blush. “Well, the Reverend’s home,” he amends, “but he ain’t my Pa.”

“But you don’t live there now,” Lovett says, slowly. “I know about you. You’re the one who sleeps above the iron mill.” 

Lovett showed up in town weeks ago. It’s not surprising he’s managed to have overheard the story, but Tommy still feels himself flush deeper.

He looks down at the floor. “Yeah, well,” and takes a step towards the table in the middle of the room with the intent of putting down his bag. 

Lovett’s feet thump down on the floor, and Tommy looks up to see an alarmed expression on his face. Lovett coughs, looking away, and then stands. 

“Can I, uh, offer you anything?” he asks. Tommy carefully places his bag of groceries down on the table.

“Water, if you have it, but I’d be okay with beer if you don’t,” Tommy says, as politely as he can. Lovett pours him a cup of what looks to be water from pitcher on the table. Tommy sniffs it as he goes to take a sip to be sure.

“It’s from the river,” Lovett says. “It better be drinkable because it’s all I’ve been drinking for the past three weeks.”

Tommy laugh aloud before he can stop himself. “It is, but that’s probably something to check in week one, not week three.” He takes another sip, thinking. “If I were to ask you the name of the town 20 miles north of here?” he asks, nonchalantly. 

“Catlessburg.” Lovett says, confidently.

Tommy laughs. “You’re clueless,” he concludes, mainly to see Lovett’s reaction. 

Lovett looks delighted. 

“The river runs West to East,” Tommy goes on, explaining. “There’s a town each way, but no one settled where there ain’t no water.” 

“You tricked me!" Lovett says, laughing. "Alright Mr. Smart Guy, what do you think about the electoral college?"

-

They keep talking, long past supper, long past Pundit getting up and moving to the straw mattress on the floor in the corner. It gets dark out past the filthy windows, and Lovett lights candles, making no indication that he expects Tommy to leave. 

So Tommy stays. 

Tommy talks about growing up with the Reverend, about the mill, about what he knows about his family. 

Lovett talks about New York City, and about Washington. About the long journey to Tennessee, and about Pundit getting seasick on the river boat.

Tommy learns, in order, that Lovett is gay, that Lovett is Jewish, and that dog vomit cannot be easily washed out of wool trousers. 

Neither of them are sure of the time - “I forgot my watch back in Washington,” Lovett explains - though Tommy estimates it to be just before dawn by the time Lovett stands, yawning. 

“You’re welcome to stay,” he says, sleepily. “Only, I’m going to bed. There’s the bed, with me on it, or the floor, with me nearby but slightly elevated.” He yawns, before crawling onto the straw mattress next to Pundit. He's fully clothed still, not that Tommy expected him to change into nightclothes in front of him. The mattress is small, but the available floor space is smaller still.

He'll stay till sunrise, Tommy tells himself. Just until sunrise.

-

Sunrise comes, and Tommy wakes when the light hits his face. Pundit is stretched out between them, and Tommy reaches down to pet at her middle, stroking down her side. Lovett - Jonathan, no, Jon, Tommy learned last night - is still blissfully encased in shadow and sleep. 

His hair's partially fallen over his face, and Tommy fights the urge to brush it back. 

As he swings his legs off the side of the mattress, Jon stirs behind him. Pundit raises her head sleepily, before wuffing and laying back down. Jon settles, and Tommy continues upwards. 

The tiny room is strewn with evidence of their late night. Jon had started rifling through his grocery bag at one point, and Tommy had ended up sharing his remaining apple, bread, and some of his coveted cheese. There are two cups on the table, with dregs of the beer they had ultimately ended up drinking once Lovett ran out of drinking water.

He grabs his shoes and the remainder of his groceries and slips out the door.

-

Work is long, and Tommy feels his body drooping more than once. The iron mill is dangerous work on the best of days, but it's the only place that would take him after he left the church. He really should've called it an early night and gotten some proper sleep, but the opportunity to have a real, in depth conversation with someone had been too good to pass up.

And Jon had been just so interesting to talk to.

He takes his break when it suits him, giving his body a much needed rest. He slumps against the side of the mill, legs stretched out across the dusty ground. 

His head is just starting to fall forward when a bark startles him awake, and he looks up to see Pundit bounding across the patchy grass towards him. Jon follows at a meandering pace behind her, hands shoved deep in his pockets, a newspaper held in the crook of his arm.

He walks up to Tommy's feet and stops, just staring down at him. Tommy brings a hand up to shield his eyes from the intense sun, and stares back.

"Hi," says Jon, and then he stops and looks away. "You, uh, forgot this." 

His newspaper lands in his lap, and Tommy stares down at it. He looks back up and Jon's face is twisted in an odd grimace, despite his back being to the sun. 

"I left it for you," Tommy says, eventually. "There's that article you seemed interested in."

"Oh, I cut that one out," Jon says, and sure enough, when Tommy looks, there's a jagged hole where the piece used to be. "I'll send it along to Jon with my next letter." He scuffs the ground with his shoe, looking to the side. 

Tommy doesn't say anything. 

"You were gone. When I woke up," Jon finally says, still not making eye contact. "I thought… well, I thought maybe I had imagined you, but there were two mugs out and more apple cores than I would have possibly eaten myself." He takes a breath, before continuing, quieter now. "I told you you could stay, if you wanted."

Tommy blinks. "Mrs. Parton said I could have this job as long as I showed up on time and didn't doddle on the clock," he says. "She gave me this job despite what people would say."

Jon nods, turning away. Tommy’s gut lurches. 

"I really liked talking to you," he says, almost desperately. "You're the first person to talk to me properly since I left the church. Thank you," he adds belatedly. "I had a nice time."

Jon stays turned, but his eyes dart back towards Tommy, to where his hand is resting idly on Pundit’s back, to where his other hand has tightened over the newspaper. 

"I had to offer a bunch of kids a dime to even talk to me," he says. "I've been here two months and I didn't even know where the iron mill is." He pauses a moment, before turning and looking Tommy in the eye. "I had a nice time too."

"Yeah, well, I don't know what's worse to the folks around here," Tommy says. Jon's shoulders are tight, and his mouth twisted. "Being a godless heathen, or believing in the wrong one." 

Jon lets out a laugh, sudden and unexpected, seemingly to both of them. His shoulders relax, and he walks closer to kneel down and run his hand through the curls on Pundit's head. 

He slides his hand down to where Tommy's is resting, nudging their pinkies together.

“I really like you -” Tommy starts, just as Jon blurts out “Come stay with me.”

They stop, and stare at one another, blushing, as Pundit wiggles in the grass beneath their hands. 

“I just -” Jon starts, and stops, looking down. “You sleep above the mill, right? That can’t be good for your health. And I don’t have much space, but it’s yours while I’m here, if… if you’d like.” 

Tommy looks at him, and looks at how Jon’s hand is clenched on top of his dog’s back rather than in her fur. He looks at Jon’s well constructed, if not well kept, clothes. He looks at the tight line of his mouth, and the creases around his eyes. 

All things considered, it doesn’t take much consideration at all.

“Yeah,” Tommy says, digging his feet into the dusty ground and feeling himself settle for the first time in a long time. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

-

Life goes on. Tommy finds himself worked to the bone physically most days, and then he comes home to Jon in the evenings; weary and tired, but still finding the mental energy to talk into the night. He's sleeping better than he has in years, asleep almost instantaneously when he lies down.

They fall into an easy rhythm, the three of them; Pundit walking him to the mill each morning, before running home to Jon, where she spends the day, until the two of them walk to pick Tommy up from work.

If the looks he gets on Sunday afternoons on his way to the grocer are a little sharper, well, he'd probably have to be a stranger from out of town to get people to talk to him even less. 

And it's nice to have someone. Tommy could never justify the cost of sweetbuns before, but the light in Jon's eyes when he brings them home makes the expense worth it. When the mountain breeze whistles through the shack at night, it's nice to pull him closer under the thin blanket, finding warmth in each other.

Which is why it's such a shock when Lovett doesn't come for him at the end of work one day. Why he doesn't even run into him on the walk home.

Jon refuses to buy another watch, and refuses to take Tommy's, so showing up at the mill at five each evening was initially more of a guessing game. There were conversations between Mrs. Parton and Lovett while Tommy finished up his work; stilted at first, but gradually getting more comfortable as the days went on. Or Tommy would run into them on the walk home; Jon's hands shoved in his pockets while Pundit trots along at his side, breaking into a run when she sees Tommy. 

So when he walks back to the shack - cabin, it's a _ cabin _ \- and doesn't meet Lovett on the way, well, he knows something's not right. 

By the time he breaks through the underbrush into the clearing, his heart is in his throat. He leaps over the front steps, hand reaching for the knob before his feet touch down, and bursts through the front door.

"Jon?" He calls, and his knees go a little weak when he sees Pundit lying under the kitchen table, head cocked, peering at him around the legs of the chair. 

"Tommy," Jon says, and when he turns to see Jon standing by the bed, he also sees the case filled with clothes and notes and Pundit's bowl. 

"I -" Tommy starts, the words dying in his throat. 

"They're calling me back," Lovett says. His shoulders are squared, back straight, and Tommy is reminded instantly of that first evening they spent together. "Just got the letter today. I need to head into town, see if I can get someone to take us to the station in the morning."

"Yeah, of course," Tommy says. Of course this wouldn't be forever, of course Jon has to go back to the life he had before. Tommy always knew it was coming, just hoped that it wouldn't be for a while longer. He curses himself for not finding Lovett sooner, when he first got here. 

"I didn't know what you wanted to take," Jon is saying, still folding a shirt, "so I just didn't pack your things." There's a beat of silence as Tommy processes. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Tommy hears himself say. "I'll, uh, take my stuff back to the mill in the morning, I guess." 

"Oh," Jon's hands still on the open lid of the case. "I mean, if you want to stay, I think the sheriff lets me live here as a joke. But I was hoping -" his voice cuts out, and his hands clench. "I wanted you to come with me."

Tommy blinks, and Jon continues, his back still turned partially away, eyes on the case. "That's fine, though. Will you write me?" At this his eyes flick up to Tommy's face. 

Tommy doesn't know what expression he's emoting. "Of course," his voice bursts out of his chest. "Of course, yeah." 

"Good. Great!" Jon says, and his mouth is smiling but his eyes are not. 

"Jon," Tommy says, stepping around the table and over to the bed. "I'd really rather come with you. If that's alright." 

Jon's smile lights up his eyes, and Tommy is kind of blown away by the sheer force of it. 

"Yeah," Jon is saying. "Yes, that sounds good to me." 

And Tommy can't help it. He takes one of Jon's hands in his and pulls him in, one arm slipping over his shoulders, holding him close. They sway like that for a moment, the evening light coming in through the windows around them. 

Jon pulls back, holding Tommy's hand in his. "You'll be invaluable, really. An honest to goodness southern gentleman helping us understand the modern South." Jon's hand slips out of Tommy's, coming up to clutch Tommy's lapels, pulling him close.

"I'll try my best," Tommy promises. "I'll do my best." And there's no way he's misreading Lovett's intentions, the way he's pressed up against him, face tilted upwards. Tommy leans down and presses a kiss to his lips, one kiss turning into many as Tommy's hands slip around Jon's waist and tug him even closer so they're pressed along each other, using each other for support. 

When they break away, Jon's eyes are shining and his smile is from ear to ear.

"I'm very glad you have terrible self preservation and decided to live with a man you just met," Jon says, grinning, and Tommy has to hide his smile in the crook of his neck. "But if you're coming to the big city, we really need to work on that trusting nature." 

Tommy doesn't point out that he's navigated the uncertainty of being a small town social outcast and escaped mostly unscathed. He just huffs out a laugh and holds on tighter. There are cicadas and frogs starting to chirp, and in the distance, over Jon's shoulder and through the grubby window, he can see the sun setting over the Smokey Mountains. 

"Yeah, Jon," he says. "We can do that."

**Author's Note:**

> and then they go to DC and Tommy meets Favs and they go do vague US government stuff the end.
> 
> Huge thanks to imperfectcircle and girlmarauders for looking this over! <3


End file.
